


A Misunderstanding

by towblerone



Series: AC Imagines Request Fics [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Suggestive Themes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-03
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2018-03-05 02:33:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,085
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3102278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/towblerone/pseuds/towblerone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charles mistakes you for a "dancer". Hilarity ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Misunderstanding

The nights were your favorite part of being in Nassau. 

The stars glittering across the dark sky. Pirates left and right, drinking and singing. Women with men hanging from their necks like pearls. The occasional fist fight.

It was when the city truly came alive, and it was when you came out of your shell to experience it all.

You tended to hang around at the tavern where a few regulars were. From what you knew about them, they were pirates, but some of them weren't so bad. What interaction you'd had with them, though very very little, was actually pleasant. And though you weren't completely safe around them, you were better off around them than around other pirates.

Tonight, you took your place standing at the bar, sipping quietly on your drink. You were content to simply stand by and observe the excitement happening around you.

You down your drink, wincing at the burning in your throat.

Someone approaches you. He's standing very close to you. You turn your head slightly to look at him.

He's tall, that is the first thing that you notice. He wears a dark brown coat with red lining the inside. Around his neck is a faded yellow ascot. His brown hair is pushed back, and is long enough to reach the back of his neck. His chin is covered in stubble. The man is attractive, in a wild sort of way.

He glances down at you, and when your eyes meet for the briefest of moments, you snap your own back down to staring at your cup. He calls for another drink from the owner of the tavern, and when it arrives, he hands it to you.

"The name's Charles. Charles Vane," he says. You feel your entire body sizzling at his low, rumbling voice.

You give him your own name timidly, unsure what it is he wants with you.

"What brings someone like you to this rough island?" he asks you. His face is devious, and you know exactly what he's thinking.

"I live here."

He places an arm around you, and despite every voice in your head shouting at you, you lean into the touch.

You know what he wants. You know exactly what he wants, and it is far from innocent. But you can't help but be completely drawn to him, even though the only thing you know of him is his name.

"How 'bout we have some more drinks together, love?"

Together, you both finish off a bottle of rum. By the end of it you feel a little hot in the face, and you're laughing at just about everything he says, whether he intended it to be funny or not. It must be completely obvious that you can't hold your liquor.

He, on the other hand, was only a bit tipsy. He must have had more practice drinking.

You felt something touching your neck, and you look down to find his face buried into the crook of it, tickling you with his beard and leaving small kisses, and his large hands are holding you still. Surprisingly enough, you don't mind one bit.

"How much?" he rumbles. It was almost inaudible, but you'd caught it.

"Excuse me?" you say, all drunkenness leaving your tone in a flash. He kisses you again, this time moving closer to your lips.

"How much coin?"

Oh my god. He thinks you're a prostitute.

You shove him off of you, and he gives you a startled and frustrated glare.

"You think I'm a whore?" you accuse. He smirks at you, not understanding the situation at all.

"Aren't you?"

That does it. You raise your hand and bring it down on his left cheek with a loud slap. Suddenly feeling sober, you spin on your feet and march out of the tavern before he can retaliate. With a quick and cautious glance behind you, you see he is still standing where you left him, shocked.

Damn pirate.

\--

The next morning, you feel a dull aching in your head. The unfortunate results of your drinking. You sit up in your bed, groaning, and decide that the sooner you get out and about, the better.

After dressing yourself, you make your way outside and head towards the beach. The sun is beating down on you and your eyes have never hurt so much before in your life.

You pass by the tavern from last night, and quickly decide to cure your hangover with the hair of the dog that bit you. As you walk into the tavern, a voice stops you.

"Oi!"

That deep, gravelly voice can only belong to one man, and the memories from last night all come back to you. That prick. Turning around, you glare at him with as much fury as you can muster smoldering in your eyes.

"And just what do you want?" you say, turning your head and refusing to look at him further.

"I was just coming to apologize," he growled at you, not liking your attitude in the least.

"A pirate? Apologizing? Oh, this should be good."

He growled in anger, and for a moment, you were afraid we was going to hit you, but he reeled his temper back in and calmed down.

"I'm sorry, alright?" he said, looking away. "Not many women hang around these parts unless they're...you know...especially not the pretty ones like you..."

You looked at him for a long time, gauging his motives. They seemed genuine enough.

"...very well. I accept your apology."

You look at him and stifle a small laugh. His cheek is still red and sore from where you struck him.

"And I'm sorry for slapping you," you say. Best to get on good terms with him. Never know when being friends with a pirate could save your life.

He chuckled deeply, nodding at you, letting you know he'd accepted your apology as well.

"Not the first time a woman's struck me," he said with a small laugh, "and it wasn't the hardest."

Looking at him, you can see he's telling you this in good humor. There's a mischievous twinkle in his brown eyes. The red mark on his cheek looked awfully painful...

Standing on your toes, you plant a kiss on the mark on his cheek.

He stares at you, eyebrows raised in surprise and his lips ever-widening into a cocky smirk. Before he can say anything, you turn and walk away to hide your blushing.

Damn him and his good looks.


End file.
